


Touch

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M, POV First Person, PWP, Pre-Slash, Snuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack likes to touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

It all started on P3X271.

I'm sitting here, snuggled up on the sofa with Jack. We're watching a movie, or rather, Jack is watching a movie and I'm letting my eyes track the images on the screen and thinking. And try as I might, 'snuggled' is the only word I can come up with to describe this. Jack is sitting at one end of the couch, in the angle where the back meets the arm, a cushion behind his back, and I'm plastered up against his side, between him and the back of the couch. His left arm is around my shoulders, his hand holding my arm. My left arm is draped across my stomach, my hand resting lightly on his hip, and my other arm is snaked around the back of his waist. I'm resting my head in the crook of his neck, my face turned just enough so that I can pretend I'm watching the film rather than laying my cheek on his broad chest. It feels so comfortable, and familiar, and warm, and safe that I'm trying to let my mind drift and just enjoy it - but I can't; so instead I'm trying to figure out how we got here, and what to do about it. And to do that I have to go back the the beginning.

It all started on P3X271 - but no; that's not really true. It started long before then. If I'm going to be completely honest with myself, it started the very first time Jack patted me on the arm and I didn't flinch away from his touch. 

Jack is a very tactile person - he'd never admit it in a million years, but he likes, really, really likes to touch and be touched. When SG-1 was formed, Jack had been separated from his wife for a year and he was dealing with a lot of tough personal stuff that precluded him starting another relationship; not that relationships are ever easy for those of us working at SGC. As a result, his need to be 'touchy feely' on occasion ended up being focused on me. It makes sense when I think about it - Jack had lost his family, and us, 'his kids', were an available substitute. Touching Carter too much would have been inappropriate, and Teal'c is... Teal'c.

Jack had no idea what he'd let himself in for, but he sure isn't a quitter. When he realized that I don't generally like to be touched; he was very good about it. He only touched me when he was really aching for physical contact, and he was always very careful to make sure it was brief and 'appropriate'; such as a "well done," pat on the back or a "it's gonna be ok," grip on my upper arm.

I started out tolerating those touches, then I realized what they meant to Jack, and even more surprising, realized that I actually didn't mind them - from him. And then, as our friendship grew, not only did I start to cherish them, but I started to return the small gestures occasionally. And now... well, 'now' is what I'm trying to figure out - so back to 'then'.

'Then' I got shot on Klorel's ship, and I was lying there dying on the deck, and I told him to leave without me - I was dying, and I wanted him to live. He could see both truths in my eyes, and he cupped the side of my face in his palm, letting his touch say the things he didn't have time to say. Or maybe he just didn't have the words to say them. As I've said, Jack is very tactile; it's easier for him to pat me on the back than it is for him to say "Good job, Daniel." It's easier for him to lay his hand on my arm than it is for him to say "I know how you feel, I'm hurting too." It's easier for him to sit by my bedside in the infirmary for hours, holding my hand than it is for him to say "Please don't leave me." And that day on the ship, it was easier for him to cup my face in a tender caress that it was for him to say "I love you." 

But I've learned what all these touches mean, and I use them occasionally to tell Jack how I feel when he needs it, or when it would embarrass him for me to speak out loud. And they were the beginning - they were the expression of our friendship, our trust and love for each other that Jack was comfortable with.

But I wouldn't be snuggled up here with Jack pretending to watch a movie while my mind churns if that was all there was. Those touches opened a door; at least that's the best explanation I can come up with for how we ended up here.

When we go offworld we take four tents. After the first few missions we got into the habit of setting up only three of them. One for Sam, so that she can have a little bit of privacy, one for Teal'c, so he can Kel'no'reem undisturbed, and one for Jack and I to share. I don't know how this arrangement became set in stone, but it has. Maybe at first it was Jack protecting the civilian on his team. Maybe one day the other three had set up their tents, when I stumbled back late from examining some ruins, and Jack took pity on my and tossed my sleeping bag into his tent. I honestly don't remember, but now, unless there's an operational reason not to, Jack and I always share a tent. 

And over the months of missions, as our friendship grew, we started to have whispered conversations late at night, in the safety of the darkness and our separate sleeping bags. At first we mainly talked about the mission and its objectives, then we started to drift into more personal subjects - childhood memories, our plans (realistic or not) for the future, and little bits of personal philosophy, 'meaning of life' stuff.

And then there was the time we had drifted into a discussion about beliefs and Jack said he wished he could bring himself to believe in reincarnation. I snorted in surprise and Jack looked hurt.

"Dammit, Daniel, You're my best friend, the least you can do is pretend to take me seriously here."

"I am?" I had replied, incredulously.

"Well, you sure didn't sound like you were." Jack had replied.

"No, Jack, I meant, 'Am I really your best friend?'" I was shocked at the idea.

"'Course you are." Jack said easily, with enough warm affection in his voice that I knew he was speaking the truth.

I fell quiet, trying to absorb the idea that I actually meant that much to Jack. It's not that I have very low self esteem, as some people who don't know me well tend to assume (as though it were possible for a person to survive the Ivy League with low self-esteem) but I knew that Jack had old war buddies who had been through hell with him and saved each other's lives; and I had just automatically assumed that one of these held the permanent status of Jack's 'Best Friend'.

But then thinking about it in that dark tent, I had realized that we had been through hell together, and had saved each other's lives, and we spent time talking about 'meaning of life' stuff in a dark tent at night.

Jack had gotten concerned that I had gone so quiet, and so he had reached a hand out and groped towards me in the semi-dark. Luckily he found my shoulder before poking me in the eye.

"Daniel, what is it? You okay?" he had asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No Jack, it's fine." And I had reached up and covered his hand with my own, to let him feel through the contact that I was all right, and that he hadn't said anything wrong. "It's just that I've never really had a best friend before, Jack, that's all."

Jack's hand gripped my shoulder harder; telling me how much the circumstances of my childhood upset him. I rubbed the back of his hand with my thumb, telling him that I appreciated his concern, and that it was okay. And for once, possibly reassured by the fact that I was responding to his touch, he found words.

"I'm honored, Danny." he whispered.

We fell asleep shortly after; but the point of this particular memory comes next. I woke up the next morning to find Jack pressed up against my back through both our sleeping bags, with his arm (having escaped his sleeping bag) holding me possessively around the waist. I had to assume that he had moved in his sleep, and I had the luxury of a few minutes to think before he woke up. I felt warm and safe and cared for. I liked those feelings a lot. I loved and trusted Jack, he was my best friend. I wasn't sorry or freaked out to wake up finding him holding me close. 

Jack woke up and clutched me tightly for a brief second before he came fully awake; then he released the tight grip, but didn't move his arm. I moved slightly, snuggling against him just a little, to let him know I wasn't uncomfortable.

"Daniel, you awake?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry." he said, moving his arm away.

"Don't be. I don't mind."

"You don't?"

"No. It's kinda nice." I said, taking a chance and telling him the truth.

"Sweet." he said, and I smiled. "I guess my subconscious misses waking up next to a warm body, or something." 

That set the trend, and from then on, generally whenever we shared a tent, we tended to wake up snuggled together as closely as separate sleeping bags would allow.

Then came the mission to P3X271.

It was a long one - 2 weeks spent negotiating mining rights, gathering military intelligence, and going to a seemingly endless succession of banquets in our honor. We had been assigned a suite of rooms in the oldest part of the castle, as befitting our status as 'representatives of a foreign state'. There was an anteroom, which led to a long, narrow reception room, which was furnished with a banquet table and chairs, and had a fireplace big enough to roast the local equivalent of an ox. At either end of this room were smaller, square rooms. One was a bedroom with a single, extraordinarily wide bed, and the other a room whose function, as far as I could tell, was to lie about on cushions spraying perfume on oneself.

"If we could manage to just use these rooms, without asking for an alternative, that would be good. Anything we say about the accommodation is bound to be taken badly - since they've already given us the best rooms in the place." I explained.

"I'm sure we can make do." Jack had replied.

"The anteroom will provide ample privacy for me to Kel'no'reem when I have need." Teal'c has said.

"Your choice then, Carter - do you want this room," indicating the pillows, "or the other one?"

I could tell that Sam was weighing her decision - considering our comfort, versus her own, and finally she said,

"I'll take this one sir."

"Sweet, Daniel and I get the ginourmous bed." Jack had joked. 

We all stowed our gear, and went on with the mission. Since the previous two visits leading up to these negotiations had been entirely peaceful, and we were being treated as honored guests, we spent most of the day split into two teams; Sam and I negotiating mineral rights, and Jack and Teal'c gathering military intelligence from this race's history of contact with the Goa'uld. We met up in the reception room of our suite for a team de-brief, and then headed off to the banquet that had been planned for that evening.

The food was good and their local alcohol thankfully very mild; which meant that we could easily drink it in the quantities required of us as guests. It gave me a slight buzz, but no other effects, and thankfully no after-effects at all. Progress was being made and we were in good spirits at the end of the evening. Back in our suite, Sam headed for her room, and Teal'c stepped into the anteroom where he settled himself comfortably on the wide, well-padded bench designed for visiting dignitaries to wait on.

Jack and I headed to the suite's bedchamber. Looking at the width of the bed - it was at least seven feet across - he had joked,

"Send me an email if I start to snore." 

And I had grinned at him. Under other circumstances, sharing a bed, rather than a tent might have been slightly uncomfortable. We had done it before, but there were usually extenuating circumstances, like one of us being cold, or sick, or injured. But the concept of sleeping in a bed the size of Texas was so ridiculous that the mood stayed light.

I carefully lit one of the room's many oil lamps, and then shucked off my clothes and changed into a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers for sleeping in. I climbed in on 'my' side of the bed and watched Jack do the same. Grinning at the sillyness of it all, I waved at him across the expanse of space.

"Hmm. I should've brought the semaphore flags." Jack joked.

Jack grabbed a couple of pillows and scooted himself towards the middle of the bed, stopping when he was only a couple of feet from me, rather than six. He settled himself comfortably, arms crossed behind his head, and looked over at me,

"So, the negotiating is going well?" he asked. He knew it was, and I knew he didn't really want to talk about the negotiations, but that he just wanted to us talk for a while before going to sleep. It was subtlety different though, from being in a tent, and that provoked the preamble; so I played along.

"Yeah, they drive a hard but fair bargain. We'll get it all worked out."

We discussed the mission a bit more, then Jack made a joke about Sam sleeping among all those cushions. 

"Hmm. I found out that this is the most defensible part of the castle. Part of their custom is to protect guests; so we get the safest rooms."

"Yeah, I noticed the two-foot thick walls and the slabs of oak or whatever it is for doors. No one's getting in here uninvited without a lot of effort."

I could see Jack relax a little further as he consciously lowered the threat-level of our surroundings. I smiled at him, and said

"Good night Jack." 

I reached down to turn the lamp down to its lowest setting, then turned on my side and surprisingly easily, fell fast asleep.

I woke up several hours later, in the darkness, completely disoriented. I blinked several times, giving my brain enough time to access memories which would tell me where I was. I remembered the mission and the suite of rooms. Then I realized why I was so utterly disoriented. Jack's body was plastered up against my back and one of his arms held me possessively around the waist. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck, and his chest rising and falling against my back as he breathed. It was the same position we often woke up in in our tent, minus the two layers of sleeping bags between us. The sensation of Jack's warm skin pressing against my own, where his thigh touched mine was almost overpowering.

I took a deep breath and tried to sort out my feelings; consciously making the effort to distinguish the things I actually did feel, from the things I thought I should feel, or things I was afraid Jack would feel. I felt warm, comfortable, safe, cherished, loved. I felt happy. Those were the easy ones. I thought hard, trying to find a name for the other feeling that was nagging me. 'Curiosity', was the closest I could come. 

I wanted to explore these feelings further, with Jack. I wanted to find out what it would feel like to hold *him* in *my* arms, to stroke his skin softly, to cup his face in my hands, to run my fingers through his short silvery hair. I wondered if there was any chance I would ever get to do any of these things. I imagined his dark brown eyes, staring into mine, giving me permission to touch, and I felt the first, faint stirrings of arousal. I thought it odd that the idea of Jack *wanting* me to touch him provoked more reaction than simply the thought of touching him. 

Lying snuggled up in bed with Jack holding me close wasn't the best time for me to be figuring out if I was sexually attracted to him, so I quickly tried to put those thought aside by conjugating 3rd declension Latin nouns until I fell back to sleep.

In the morning I was woken by Jack's arm tightening suddenly around me as he woke. I smiled, absurdly pleased that his first instinct on waking was to protect me; and then I rationalized that he would probably do the same thing no matter who was in his arms. 

"Morning Danny." Jack mumbled, relaxing his grip.

"Morning Jack." I replied; snuggling against him a little to show him that I was comfortable waking up like this with him. I could feel him smiling at my back. He gave me another, gentler squeeze, and then sighed and rolled away from me, making his way back to the other side of the bed with a snort, and climbed out.

The next few days followed the same pattern, negotiations, team briefing, banquet dinner, bed. Wake up snuggled warm and close with Jack, and do it all again. Then one night, after we had had a brief discussion about the mission and a longer one about the relative merits of having lived in many different places as a child, I rolled over to go to sleep only to find Jack inching closer to my back in the dark. He got close enough for me to feel his breath on the back of my neck without actually touching me and then very tentatively whispered "Daniel?", asking permission to hold me as we fell asleep.

I smiled to myself in the dark and shifted back into his embrace. He put his arm around me, gave a gentle squeeze, and then sighed softly as he relaxed, holding me close. I was surprised at the honesty of this gesture. Jack was admitting that he consciously wanted to hold me, rather than continuing to blame our snuggling on subconscious actions while asleep. I fought the urge to roll over and look into his eyes, asking permission to touch. What if he gave it? How far did I want this to go? As far as Jack wanted, was the first answer. As far as Jack would let me, was the second, subtly different one. An image of his dark brown eyes staring into mine trustingly, came to mind, and provoked a stirring in my groin. The idea of Jack, the hard, powerful, controlled soldier trusting me enough to let his guard down, to let me explore his body, to let me into his heart, was powerfully erotic.

I conjugated 4th declension Latin nouns until I fell asleep.

And so it went until the last day of the mission; the negotiations finished early in the day, giving me some free time before the formal banquet. I took the opportunity to go for a walk in the palace grounds, and give myself some time to think. I loved Jack, and he loved me; about that there was no question. Snuggling with him felt good, and so did touching him. It was the touching that intrigued me. I wanted to explore with my fingertips, and my lips. I wanted to touch and taste. I could imagine kissing his palm, his shoulder, his neck. I tried to imagine kissing his lips and failed for lack of a point of reference.

Ditto for sex. I knew what his body looked like naked and I had an academic understanding of the mechanics, but my imagination simply failed to provide images of us together sexually. It didn't require any great intellect to realize that a man reaching out to his best friend for comfort or reassurance didn't necessarily equate to said man wanting to fuck said best friend stupid. I sat down on a bench in the garden and closed my eyes. I could imagine the feel of his hands on me. Stroking, kneading, caressing. I imagined the feel of his strong callused fingers playing lightly over my skin, and started to get hard. 

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, coming to a decision. I would find a way to make it clear to Jack that I was interested in taking things further, and see how he reacted. I stood up and walked slowly back to our suite.

The evening's banquet was a loud, happy, party. Our hosts were pleased with the bargain they had struck, and we felt we had done a good job. We ate and drank and laughed. At one point Jack made a particularly good joke, which had our hosts banging the table in appreciation. I reached under the table and squeezed his knee, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile from Jack. Then he slipped his hand under the table and covered mine. Taking that as an opening, I carefully turned my hand over under his so that our hands were clasped, and laced my fingers into his. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, and I smiled back at him. 

At the end of the banquet, relaxed and pleasantly buzzed from copious quantities of the local booze; the four of us headed back to our suite and bed. Jack and I went to our room, and Jack paused for a moment, looking at the big bed, and then at me. I could read his expression as clearly as if he had spoken aloud,

'I'm going to miss this'.

I nodded at him, agreeing with the unspoken sentiment, and then stripped down to t-shirt and boxers for bed. Jack climbed in on his side and moved over towards me, then stretched out on his back, staring at the ceiling. I lay close to him, on my side, and then after a minute reached out and placed one hand gently on his chest. He turned to look at me, eyes a little troubled, and voiced what his eyes had said earlier.

"I'm gonna miss this, Daniel," he admitted softly.

"Me too." I whispered back. I moved closer to him, and he put his arm around me. I put my head on his shoulder, and lay still for a few minutes, gathering courage to make a move. Eventually I tilted my head back a little so that I could see his face. He turned to look at me, his face an inch from mine. I searched his eyes for some indication but found none, so taking a chance, I slowly moved my hand from his shoulder to cup the side of his neck, and I brushed his jaw with my thumb. His dark brown eyes stared into mine, still completely unreadable. I stroked his jaw with my thumb again, and saw him swallow. I waited, not daring to breathe. 

He closed the tiny gap between us and touched his lips to mine, briefly, and then withdrew. I followed him and pressed my lips gently to his, brushing them softly. He kissed me back, gently at first, and then more deeply. Time seemed to stop. The sensation of his lips brushing mine overwhelmed me - I desperately wanted more. I nibbled his lower lip, and he let out a very soft sigh. He touched the tip of his tongue to my upper lip, and I opened my mouth slightly, inviting him in. After a second's hesitation, he parted his lips and gently touched his tongue to mine. I nearly gasped at the sensation, the feel and taste of him. We began to explore each other's tongues, and mouths, and I was completely lost in the exploration. With growing confidence I moved my hand from his neck, intending to run my fingers though his hair; but my movement startled him, and he gasped and drew back, wild-eyed.

"Christ Daniel, I'm sorry." he said, starting to pull back.

I realized the enormity of my mistake. I had read too much into Jack's need to touch and be touched. I had taken advantage, pushing him into something he didn't want. Suddenly I realized that our friendship and Jack's warm, caring touches were the most important thing in the world to me, and I had thrown both away merely out of curiosity, without considering what Jack might feel. I panicked, and grabbed a handful of his T-shirt as he backed away from me.

"Don't. Please don't Jack, I'm sorry. Please don't turn away from me Jack. I can't loose you, I'm sorry." I babbled almost incoherently.

Jack stared, saw the tears starting to run down my cheeks, and wrapped his arms around me in a fierce hug.

"It's okay, I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I won't leave you. It's going to be OK Danny." Jack rubbed my back in small circles and stroked my hair as he murmured the reassuring words over and over. 

Not knowing what to say, how to explain or apologize properly, I lay quiet in his arms, holding him and being held until we both fell asleep. When we woke in our usual position in the morning, Jack held me tightly for a long time, knowing that it may well be the last time he would. Needing to show him how I felt, I laid my arm on top of his and held it to me. Eventually Jack sighed, released his hold, and climbed out of bed.

We left P3X271 that morning, and arrived back at SGC. After routine medicals, and a thorough de-brief; Hammond asked for full mission reports within the next seventy-two hours, a task which had us all pulling long hours at our desks to make a complete record of the negotiations and intelligence gathered. The fact that I hadn't been sleeping well made the report writing even more difficult. I kept waking in the night, disoriented, realizing that I was missing Jack's presence. It was exhausting, both physically and emotionally, since I was afraid I had damaged our relationship beyond repair.

I finally finished my report, and walked over to Hammond's office to put it on his desk. Returning to my office, I found Jack waiting for me.

"Hey." he said, looking uncertain.

"Hey." I said back, smiling to try to reassure him. I quashed an instinct to reach out and touch his arm to convey that reassurance in a language he was sure to understand.

"Um, beer and pizza at my place tomorrow night?" he asked, quickly, glancing down at the floor as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

"That'd be great." I said, smiling again. He looked back up at me, and smiled a small smile of his own. 

"Sweet."

So I had arrived for our usual Friday night beer-and-pizza and hockey or a movie on TV, with a six-pack of Jack's favorite beer, and a pizza with Jack's favorite toppings.

We drank and ate and talked about inconsequential things, then Jack made me pick the movie. Since I've seen everything in his collection at least twice, and I'm not particularly thrilled with any of it, I chose something I knew he liked that we hadn't watched in a while. His eyes lit up and he stuck it in the VCR.

Then he sat back down on the couch, in the corner. I got up to get us each another beer, and handed him his. He popped the top, took a swig, and then put it down on the coffee table. I opened mine and set it down, and then sat on the couch, close to him, but not touching. He turned to look at me and our eyes locked. I could see how badly he wanted to touch me, and how afraid he was to. All I could do was smile softly at him. He came to a decision, and slowly reached up and put his hand on my shoulder, saying with that touch how much he had missed our physical closeness; and how much he wanted it now. I shifted over on the couch so that our thighs touched, and he gave me a brilliant, relieved smile. I smiled back at him and leaned into his shoulder. 

So here we are snuggled up on the sofa. Jack is watching a movie and I'm letting my eyes track the images on the screen and thinking. It feels so comfortable, and familiar, and warm, and safe. I never want it to end, but I also need to know how Jack feels, and what he wants. And as well as we communicate by touch; this time we need words. 

The film ends and Jack hits stop on the VCR, and off on the television remote, then he wraps his arm around mine again, and starts to stroke it very gently with his thumb. The room is dark, and I'm reminded of our discussions in our tent on missions. I squeeze the bit of Jack's hip that's under my hand, and tilt my head up so that I can see his face as my eyes adjust to the darkness.

"Jack, what do you want?" I ask softly.

"I don't know. I don't want this to end; but beyond that I don't know."

"I don't want this to end either, it's very important to me." I say positively. 

"But you want more?" Jack asks softly.

"I... I'm not sure. How do you feel about... more?" I ask.

"Holding you feels so damn good. And kissing you was incredible; but I haven't thought much beyond that. I just don't know."

"I... don't know either Jack. I've... I've thought about you touching me. Imagined you touching my skin." I confess.

"Oh God, Danny," Jack almost moans, and I can tell the thought is doing the same thing to him as it did to me that day in the garden. He tightens his grip on me to prevent his hands from wandering off on their own accord.

"I want to touch you." Jack says, his voice a little ragged, "I don't know about anything beyond that, but I want to touch you."

My heart starts to pound at his words, and I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. 

"Touch me Jack." I whisper.

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in May, 2004 and posted at Area 52. Set in Season 3. Spoilers for The Serpant's Lair. Thanks very much to my beta-readers Sefkhet and Bec.


End file.
